Should Have Been
by elleisforlovee
Summary: A re-write of the "almost kiss" that happened in 2x05. *Written as a Holiday Gift for the always sweet mimijag*


**A/N**: This is my holiday gift for the lovely **mimijag**! Mimi requested a re-write of the "almost kiss" in 2x05.

Enjoy! x

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"Mary's telephoned. She'll be on the late train. It gets in at eleven."

Tom looked up from the newspaper he was reading. It was always a surprise to see Sybil standing before him in the garage. Even as he found he had come to crave the contact, that didn't somehow alter how often it occurred. It also didn't change the fact that she was the daughter of the man he worked for, and he, a servant — below her.

He smirked, doing the only thing he knew how to do lately with her always appearing to cool and collected while he could barely look away from her lips long enough to think about anything other than kissing them. He swore to tell her someday that his cockiness was a result of his own insecurities. He was confident that she loved him, he wouldn't deny that. And in that same breath, he knew he could take care of her and provide for her in the way she needed; doling out feelings and promises of happiness instead of new frocks and monthly trips to London for socializing.

"What do you tell them?" Tom asked simply. "When you come to see me..."

"I tell them I'm ringing for the motor."

"And is that it? You've rung for the motor now."

Sybil nodded. "I have," she continued, shifting her weight from her toes to her heel while her hands remained calmly clasped behind her back. "Yes, I suppose I have," she resolved again, realizing what it was he was asking for.

"Listen Tom," Sybil tried, now on flat feet. "Just because I haven't given you my answer doesn't mean I don't want to talk to you. In fact, I want to talk to you very much. I don't appreciate you belittling our friendship just because I'm not ready to be your wife."

"You're right," Tom sighed.

"Am I?" Sybil whispered back.

It was a white flag, and with it, Tom stood up, following Sybil's lead as they both leaned back, him against one car, and her against the other.

"How's William?" he tried, knowing it would be best to start off simple.

Sybil's mouth parted, but no words came out. In understanding, Tom looked down as she then began to explain. "Not well. At all. Edith's with him, but it seems there's nothing we can do."

Then, Sybil's interests changed. It was no use talking about William and the death that would inevitably consume him sometime soon. She wished to forget all pleasantries, but she knew that doing so was to admit words she wasn't yet ready to hear aloud; the same words Tom had been waiting for since before the war began. "What are you reading?"

"The paper."

Sybil smirked. "What stories?" she elaborated, her smile only growing.

"Oh," Tom said, looking to the item in his hand. "I'm afraid it's just as sad as our previous topic. They, uh, they shot the tsar."

"Oh, god," Sybil let out.

"And his entire family." With the tips of her fingers, Sybil reached up to cover her mouth. Tom continued: "I'm sorry. I'll not deny it. I never thought they'd do it. But sometimes a future needs terrible sacrifices. You thought that once."

In hearing his words, both inflammatory and unsettlingly true, Sybil looked to him. "I told you, Tom. With the war I don't want to start anything with my politics. I can't, alright? Everyday I see these men, badly burned and torn apart. I am all they have. I'm who they talk to. I'm who feeds them and clothes them and medicates them. I can't spend my time wondering when I'll get the vote. I can't afford to think that way…"

"Sylvia Pankhurst can. And she does. You're trying to be normal, Sybil. I get that. You're helping and that's great, but if you're doing it because you think it'll expose you to things, you're wrong. You're just as sheltered and as privileged as you were before the war. And until you—"

"Don't badger me! Please!" Sybil exclaimed. In doing so, she turned on her heel, ready to leave him and this conversation right where she had found it: at the back of the garage. It seemed that Tom had other plans, ones he wished to achieve so naturally, first with his hand on her curve of her hip, then with his eyes, glossing over her own as she looked to him, stunned that he'd be bold enough to not only stop her, but to reach out and touch her.

Her chest heaved, and he noticed, watching as the lavender color of her shirt rose and fell with each passing inhalation. Still, they looked to one another. Neither of them were ready for words to be exchanged, and Sybil, most notably, was sure that the minute she spoke, his hand would fall, and with the same amount of determination, she also wasn't prepared for that either. Like electricity, his touch was warm, and the way in which his hand conformed to the swell of her hip charged her, making her feel things she was ashamed to admit out loud. To do so would to be to admit so many other things, the most notable of them being that she was so madly in love with him.

Eventually, his hand fell, and his fingertips gingerly ran along the edge of her skirt, not quite willing to let go yet. "Sometimes a hard sacrifice must be made for a future that's worth having. That's all I'm saying. That's up to you."

Sybil nodded. "You're right," she whispered. Meanwhile, her eyes remained trained on his lips.

He returned the favor, wondering how ridiculous they looked to anyone walking by as they both focused on the plump nature of each other's mouths, wondering at what angle and what intensity the perfect kiss could be achieved. "I don't want to be right, Sybil. I want...you know what I want. And I want you to want those same things. The free life. The politics. The—"

"Alright," Sybil finally said. "Yeah," she let out again. Lacking coherence, her words shushed him as her body leaned in. Tom nodded, his mind calculating what was about to happen as his hands reached out again, pulling her in. He didn't have time to wonder what they looked like now. He could only imagine, and he felt it too, the way her hands reached out for his face, one cradling the back of his neck as the other rested so gently upon his chin, making it so his lips were just as she needed them.

Together, they stumbled backward. The back of her legs hit the tire below, and her waist, right where his touch previously was, rested rather uncomfortably along the line of the wheel drum. This was the same place Tom's hand rested, moving to steady them now as his other hand cupped her neck, allowing his thumb to caress the soft skin near her ear.

What was meant to be one kiss, turned into many, and Sybil found that for as breathless and new as this all was, she didn't want to pull away. Instead, she moved through it, and allowed him to guide her as she angled her mouth and his in a way that allowed reprieve. At one point, Tom's hand moved back to her waist, this time higher than it was before. The same fingertips that had cascaded along her skirt now rested up much higher, below the curve of her breast where his thumb did its best not to reach up and touch. In response, the electric feeling from before returned, and Sybil sighed at the contact, causing her mouth to part and for it to feel natural for her to slip her tongue out and into his mouth, needing the warmth to accompany how intimate all of this was.

Surprisingly, it was Tom who seemed unsure, and Sybil noticed, causing her to immediately feel insecure as she then moved to detach. In a slow pull, the two began to breathe again. Their lips, still moist and craving all they had just experienced, met the air with slight distaste.

"Was that bad?"

With closed eyes, Tom shook his head. "No, definitely not bad."

"I'm sorry—"

She couldn't finish. Once again, Tom's lips were on hers, his hands making no apologies this time as one reached up ever so slowly to rest on her breast. The contact, and the feeling of pressure behind it, had Sybil's body on fire. Again, her mouth parted, and this time he didn't hesitate, causing her to smile as the two shared several open-mouthed kisses. Her hands were everywhere, one strong on his back and the other discovering new parts of him, parts like the nape of his neck, or the round of his backside, both of which she thought about often before bed each night.

Finally, Tom pulled away, and took a strong step back. His eyes were no longer on her lips, and the calm, elated smile he wore before when he told her she was doing fine, had disappeared. "We can't," he breathed out. Then again it came: "We can't."

"What?" Sybil asked. Her hands practically stung having him this close and just previously in her grasp and now, she felt as if to touch him would be to push him further away. "Tom?"

"We can't," he said, shaking his head. "It's not fair. It's not fair to you or to me. You had just come to call the motor. I was reading my paper. We can't, Sybil."

"Oh," she tried again. "Because I won't tell you I love you? Is that it? I didn't peg you as the type where those things matter, Tom. In fact, with the way you just kissed me, I'd guess you haven't always thought this way…"

"If you mean to ask if you're the first girl I've loved, fallen in love with," he corrected with a sigh, "then the answer is yes, Sybil. But I have felt this way for a long time. And I can't help but to think that come after the war, just like your politics, you'll forget about me. And I can't have that. I can't have these fleeting, wonderful moments here in this garage. You deserve better—"

"And you too," she assured, ever so softly. "You deserve more than I think I'll be ever to give you, Tom."

Somehow, this made him chuckle, and Tom looked to the floor, unable to meet her gaze at hearing something so foreign to the ears. "I mean that," she continued. "So please don't think this doesn't make me feel bad. Because it does. I may not think about my politics but I do think about you. I think about you more than you'd probably ever like to hear that I do. I know it drives me mad, so I can only imagine how crazy it'd sound to someone else."

"That doesn't sound crazy," Tom quickly corrected. "It's comforting."

"I won't forget about you. How could I?"

"They'll marry you off," he said in haste.

"To who?"

"Certainly not to the Irish Chauffeur."

"You're wrong," Sybil corrected. "And I know you're scared, Tom. I am too. But if you didn't believe me, you'd be gone by now. I know you miss your family. I know you miss your home and Ireland and the city life. I just need a little more time. When we go, it needs to be perfect."

"I don't want perfect—"

"Well you deserve perfect," Sybil said confidently. "I don't want it happening so quickly that we don't have time to plan. You need a job. I'll need to look for one as well. Where will we live? Will your mother even like me?"

"I see you've put some thought into it."

"I think about it more than you'll ever know," Sybil let out. With a sigh, she continued: "I agree, Tom. With what you said before, you know, about sacrifices. I believe life is about sacrifices and I know this is something I want. But right now the war needs me. These men need me."

"So what? Am I the sacrifice right now?"

Sybil smirked. If she hadn't, she was sure she would have begun to cry. "We're all sacrificing right now. But come the end of the war, I'm ready to make changes. With you, with my politics. All of it. This isn't the life I want. You have to believe me."

"I do."

"Alright, good," she said simply. Then: "I'm sorry about the Tsar. And I'm sorry for kissing you."

"I'm sorry about the Tsar too. But I won't accept that second apology."

"I didn't do it to tease…"

"I did kiss you back," Tom offered with a small laugh.

"You're right though. It can't happen again..."

In shame, Tom looked to the ground. "Aye."

Sybil was at the door now, her hands, always so small and dainty, wrapping around the wood as she stood at the threshold between his world and her own. "And not for the reason you think," she said simply. "I'm afraid if I kiss you again, I won't be able to stop…"

This time when she went to move, he allowed her to go. She was not close enough anymore to reach out and touch and he knew that to call after her would be to incite them both into something neither was ready for, even after everything they had just experienced together — the words and the way her lips seized his so wantingly.

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Thanks for reading!

x. Elle


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